


as wine loves salt

by poalimal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fic in the Time of Quarantine, Lack of Communication, M/M, Pining, Unresolved Tension, two night stand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: 'You need this?' Jack asks.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	as wine loves salt

After a while, with no other options, they turn to cooking wine. For Gabe, it's too salty. Jack just keeps drinking.

'I burned my tastebuds off ten years ago,' he says, drinking straight from the bottle: 'I can't taste a damn thing.' 

Jack's been a teetotaller as long as Gabe's known him. He's drinking now - he's leaning close, the light from the fire pit casting warm shadows. Gabe's heart beats hard. He leans back; he makes a face. 

'Go brush your teeth, man,' he says. 'You smell like death.'

Jack grins, and pats him on the cheek. 'You're no fresh dzzhy yourself.' Lightweight. Gabe laughs. Jack furrows his brow. 'Daisy. You're no fresh daisy.'

'Yea. Sure.' Gabe looks away, yawning. He pushes off the throw, rising from the ottoman with vague purpose. He stumbles into the house, he scratches his stomach. Up the stairs - he only trips once - and into the bathroom. He takes a piss - he smells under his arms - he takes a shower. Cursorily, at first - he thinks about the look in Jack's eyes, outside - then more thoroughly. 

He takes his time, afterward, rubbing whipped kokum butter into his skin. Stretching himself open with oil, though he still feels sore. Over the mirror, one of the lights flickers. Gabe glances up when it does - his eyes drag down to his reflection. He'd noticed the flickering last night. He'd meant to replace the bulb. Instead he'd been... distracted.

Jack had been careful, last night; he'd been sober. He'd been hurting. That's really the only way he'd-- well. Gabe had taken the excuse, then - he doesn't need to make any, now. He rakes conditioner through his hair hurriedly, shoving his razor and mousse back into his shower bag, with the rest of his things. He doesn't need to shave, he doesn't need to _style_ his _hair_ ; and he definitely doesn't need to stretch himself out for his newly divorced best friend. 

He needs to say goodnight - he needs to go to bed.

Jack is waiting for him in the guest room. In the moonlight, on the edge of Gabe's bed; fully-dressed. Still and staring as Gabe bends to open his suitcase. Gabe buys himself time, folding up his dirty clothes and putting them in a plastic bag. Carefully unzipping one of the many pockets on the inside of the suitcase shell and sliding his shower bag inside. Hoping for some kind of joke about all this fucking baggage.

Jack calls his name. Gabe looks over at him. At his hands, his eyes, the splay of his legs - the way that he beckons.

Gabe straightens; he goes over to stand in front of Jack. 'What's up, man?' he says, casually. 'You know I'm not hiding any alcohol up here, right.' A laugh-like noise comes from his mouth.

'Yea,' Jack scoffs, 'I know.' He tilts his head back, he reaches out a hand.

Gabe watches that hand reach out for his towel, knotted in front. He watches those knuckles brush the hair on his belly; he feels them. He swallows. 

'You need this?' Jack asks. He cuts the heat off at night. And Gabe's standing there, all but naked; he's cold, he's shaking a little, he's shaking his head. Jack undoes the knot, he pulls him down into his lap. They regard each other. Jack kissing his neck - Gabe tilting his head - and then his mouth. Gabe smells the smoke in Jack's hair, on his shoulders, on his shirt - 'you need this?' he says, sarcastic, helping Jack pull it off, tossing it to the side somewhere - their chests pressed together; their lips grazing as he grinds more firmly into Jack's lap. Gabe is quickly warming up.

'Stop holding your breath,' Jack chides, 'you'll get the hiccups again.'

'I'm not,' Gabe exhales, 'holding my breath,' and they re-manoeuvre, Gabe falling back against the pillows, legs spread; Jack spread over him, caging him in. Stroking the thick of Gabe's hip with his thumb. Gabe rocking against him slowly, liking the friction; Jack taking them to a still.

Gabe will remember the look in his eyes.

'Last night,' Jack says, '...did I hurt you?'

Gabe blinks. 'No,' he says, surprised. 'Definitely not.'

'Oh - that's good,' says Jack. 'I would've asked before, but it felt-- kind of weird.' He's much better at laughing than Gabe is right now. He sits up a little, smiling. From his jean pockets, he pulls condoms, he pulls out a little thing of lube. Maybe he knew Gabe was a sure thing. 

'But you'd tell me if I did, right?' he says. 'If I hurt you?' 

I am at my fuckin' limit with you, Gabe thinks. He reaches up and takes Jack's face in his hands. 

'Yea, Jack,' he says, pulling him back down. Again they kiss - he can taste the mouthwash that Jack must have swigged. Still he tastes something sour, beneath that; something with too much salt. 'Of course.'

**Author's Note:**

> Conventional cooking wisdom suggests that people only cook with wine fit for drinking. Commercially available cooking wine is generally quite salty, and wine does not need salt. Title is instead a play on a popular Western folktale: a king (or else a great man) asks his three daughters how much they love him. His reasons for asking vary depending on the version of the tale. The eldest and middle daughter respond extravagantly. _I love you like life itself_ , etc, etc. The youngest responds quite simply: _as meat loves salt, so do I love you_. Her father does not understand.


End file.
